


All Roads Lead to Home

by AtomicPen, Dicheallach



Series: I will make it with you [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Atomic as Maretus, Dicheallach as Vanora, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Not So Subtle Flirting, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on Tumblr, Subtle flirting, Tumblr Roleplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 15:45:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15844401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtomicPen/pseuds/AtomicPen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dicheallach/pseuds/Dicheallach
Summary: Home again in Tevinter, Vanora settles back into the political life of an heir to a Magister’s seat. Maretus re-adapts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a series of tumblr rp over the last several years of Dragon Age OCs and their unfolding story. archived here for ease of reading and for the enjoyment of anyone who wants to read.
> 
> find Atomic's Maretus at [molioanimatra](http://molioanimatra.tumblr.com), and Dicheallach's Vanora at [vintyvanora](http://vintyvanora.tumblr.com)

**i.** ****

It took weeks.

Part of him had debated simply going himself to fetch what he wanted, but he wasn’t sure he could have come up with a plausible enough excuse to be gone for several weeks. And he certainly couldn’t tell her where he was going–she’d surely want to come with. Maretus, wanting to visit the town he grew up in? He was certain she’d want to be there with him.

To be fair, if he ever did truly go back for any reason, he’d want her to be there as well. Luckily, however, this particular task did not require his presence. Just his instructions.

There were usually a few days a week where Vanora attended things that he was not required for–indeed, some meetings it would have been poor form for him, in his capacity as her Guard Captain, to be present. So, he took one of those days as an opportunity to tend to his own business.

It was an idea that had sparked earlier, not long after they first arrived at her household, and he’d sat on it awhile, deliberating if it was a worthwhile effort. Finally, he called for a runner to set things in motion.

Though he had few fond memories of his native city of Marothius, he could clearly recall many of the blooming plants there, and how he’d never seen their like since in any other part of Thedas. Since they’d been back, Vanora had finally been able to show him the library she described to him what seemed like so long ago, and he did not fail to notice the entire section she had simply on botany. All he had to do was put the two together. Maretus didn’t think she ever had occasion to go to western Tevinter in her travels, and so he hired a courier to travel there for one particular plant he remembered.

Three and a half months after he sent them, the courier returned and nearly ruined the surprise.

He and Vanora were taking their lunch on the veranda overlooking a wading pool when one of the servants came to them, bowing low.

“Deepest apologies for interrupting, but there is a courier here with–”

Maretus stood suddenly, the skid of his chair cutting off the servant and garnering a questioning look from Vanora.

“I’ll go,” he said without hurry. “You rarely get to enjoy a meal without interruption.”

Vanora rolled her eyes at him. “This is still an interruption.”

“Still, I’ll handle it this time.” Without giving her any more opportunity to argue, he motioned for the servant to lead the way back to the main receiving atrium of the estate.

“Did the courier mention this delivery was to be discreet?” Maretus asked quietly as soon as they entered the hall away from the veranda.

The young man visibly swallowed, unsure how Maretus’s ire would manifest to discipline him. “Y-yes, but the lady was alone, save for you–”

Again Maretus stopped him, shaking his head. “It is a surprise  _for_  her,” he explained. “I should have told the courier to ask directly for me.” With a glance to the nervous servant, Maretus’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re not in trouble, Verus, you can stop looking at me like I’m going to flog you.” 

He looked down the hall they stopped in, toward the atrium. “This is a delivery for me, for a few supplies that I ordered and have been expecting. Understood?”

Verus nodded, still looking nervous despite Maretus’s reassurance.

“Good. Go back to your duties.”

The young servant hurried off at this dismissal, and Maretus watched him go for a moment before continuing on his way. Perhaps if he came up with some exceptionally mundane thing these ‘supplies’ were for, Vanora wouldn’t be interested enough to question his eagerness to go in her stead. It would be a short charade, luckily–ever since the ordeal with Septimus, Maretus did not relish the idea of keeping secrets from her. Even if they were surprises meant to please her.

The atrium was an open area with the solid walls of the estate giving way to latticework that let the sunlight in, and each of the columns had flowering ivies twining up around them. They filled the pale, open room with a gentle and sweet fragrance as well as bright accents of color. The courier he had hired months ago stood near the front of the room, close to the door, holding a pale woven box.

Instantly his head quickened a little. It was a small thing to get excited over, he knew, but he had so little of his past it felt like some precious thing he was going to share with her, not just a simple flower.

“You truly found it?” he asked, walking up to the courier.

“The ignasis flower,” she replied, reaching to the front of the box and unlatching it to reveal its contents.

It was as lovely as he remembered it, with long petals the colors of a living flame in bright contrast to the shadowed interior of the box. The bloom itself sat upon a pedestal with a small clasp to hold it upright in presentation, and for all intents and purposes looked like a small, soft plume of fire. Vanora had once enabled him to hold a flame in his hands, and this was the closet he would get to giving one to her.

Maretus produced payment from one of his pockets, and added in a bit extra for good measure. The woven box exchanged hands, finally in his possession. Now the only question was how to present it to her.

He could simply go back to their lunch and give it to her, but something about doing it that way fell flat to him. It was a special gift for him to give, and so he wished to present it in a manner befitting.

Thoughtfully, he drummed fingers along the side of the box, weighing options. Perhaps the library, or the gardens. Or–ah, yes. He knew precisely where it should go.

Smile spreading across his face at the idea, he quickly made his way through the halls until he reached another open room, this one full of potted plants and a trellis for a roof that was thick with various vines and greenery. A few chaise lounges and chairs were placed in it, along with a table off to one side, stacked with a few books and a pile of unopened letters. These were personal letters and Vanora took time every day to open a few of them and read them through. Sometimes he would help her–many were social invitations, truth be told–and sometimes he sat nearby on a chaise and read, simply keeping her company.

In the center of the table Maretus gently set the woven box down on top of the letters so that she could not miss it even if she tried. Satisfied at that, he made his way back to the veranda to rejoin Vanora and their lunch.

“What was it?” she asked him as he returned.

“Supplies I’ve been expecting,” he replied smoothly. “I started running low on dubbin for my jerkin and boots, so I sent a courier to bring me some more.”

Curious, Vanora sent him a look. “You could have just picked it up when we were at the market,” she said.

“Well…” he began, schooling his face and voice carefully. “I used to use a particular one from Ferelden, that I had in Skyhold, and grew quite fond of it. So I must admit to a bit of indulgence in sending for more of it.” He gave her a sheepish look to hopefully sell his story. It wasn’t truly even a lie–he did have a favored Ferelden dubbin he found while at Skyhold, but he’d brought enough with him to last a year or two, anticipating being half a world away form its source.

“Ah,” Vanora said, nodding. “Far be it for me to get between a man and his leather treatment.” She smiled at him.

Thank goodness for his prudent and thorough proclivities, that she so readily accepted his answer. Their conversation after that drifted to other matters–a small social gathering upcoming in two weeks, her steady progression in reestablishing herself, his ideas for additions to the guard training routines. Eventually, they finished their lunch and parted for a short while, each off to finish up separate duties for the day.

In the room he’d taken over to be his work study, Maretus settled down with the household reports left to him by the guards. He didn’t have anything to do with household accounts or supplies, but it was a large estate and held many fine and expensive things that needed protecting–not to mention protecting the inhabitants. So once he’d been put in charge, he tightened up the requirements for each guard who was reporting directly to him and established better protocols and a hierarchy very reminiscent of the Legion. He found it to be the most efficient–and the most familiar to him–and it seemed to be improving the work ethic of the guards on top of it all.

But, after reading the same page of the household report three times without remembering what it said, Maretus conceded he was distracted.

Fortunately, though he took his position of Guard Captain of the Tiberius Estate seriously, it wasn’t anywhere near the most strenuous of positions. Estate guard management was even less daily responsibility than training Inquisition soldiers. Without feeling much guilt at all, he set his reports aside and stretched, leaning back in his chair. He’d managed to pass enough time that he expected Vanora to also be near to done with her business, and soon they would convene in the trellised solar to open and read letters–and, Maretus thought with a smile, for her to find his gift.

He took his time in getting back to the solar, forcing himself to meander the halls a bit, pretending to be interested in the hangings and decorations on the walls. Nervous anticipation hummed along his veins as he neared. Would she like the gift? Would she find it too mundane or trivial? It was no extravagant piece of jewelry, no finely made cloth from which she could have an exquisite dress made, but the simple bloom represented a part of him that he’d never shared with anyone, and he found himself a little surprised at just how desperately he wanted her to like it.

Not unusually, Vanora wasn’t there when he arrived. She must have gotten wrapped up in her work. He smiled at that familiar thought and sat on a chaise that had quickly become his usual one. The book he’d been reading still lay on the end of it, so he picked it up and paged through slowly to find where he’d left off. A stack of similar books sat on the floor, ones he hadn’t gotten to yet but intended to work his way through.

Again, he didn’t get too far in reading before he found himself distracted, impatient for her to arrive. Finally, she breezed in through the door, leaves from the trellis vines fluttering in her swift wake.

“I lost track of time,” she said, though it wasn’t any kind of apology, nor did he expect one. He understood better than anyone getting deep into work and forgetting all else until it was done and one could resurface again.

He kept his eyes on the book, as if deeply involved in it, though he was very aware of her and could see her moving about in his periphery. When she stopped moving, standing before the table, it took all his willpower not to immediately look up from the book and ruin the surprise. 

“What’s this?”

She turned to face him, the box in her hands, to eye him skeptically. “Maretus, do you know anything about this?”

“Looks like a woven box to me,” he said, silently willing her to just open it.

Vanora sent him a withering look, but then her curiosity took over and she set it back down again, carefully, before one finger deftly flicked open the lock. Maretus lifted his eyes from the book to watch her more clearly, his attention directly on her face to see her reaction. The lid made no noise as it opened, and her eyes widened and he felt his heart leap into his throat–but then her brows drew together as she peered inside for several heavy beats of his heart.

Just as he was about to open his mouth and tell her to pick the damn thing up and look at it, she abruptly turned and left the room. Book falling nearly into his lap, Maretus could only stare at the doorway she vanished into. She… didn’t like it? A wretched twisting tied his stomach into several knots and all he could do was stare. He didn’t understand. How could she had just left like that? Even if she didn’t think it was the most prudent of gifts, it wasn’t like it looked awful or smelled foul.

Light footsteps he recognized heralded her return, and he quickly lifted the book again as if nothing had happened, though his shoulders felt heavier now than they had in a long while. Perhaps he had misjudged after all.

She swept back into the room in a swirl of iridescent skirts, small book in hand. Maretus lifted his gaze again to covertly watch her delicately reach into the woven box and draw out the ignasis bloom with her free hand, turning it over to get a better look at it, while deftly paging through the book to compare it to the contents on its pages. Maretus could have laughed out loud–she was trying to identify it!

After several unsuccessful moments passed, Vanora spun to face him, one dark eyebrow raised and a question forming on her lips. A grin spread across his face, unbidden, and she snapped her mouth shut and looked at him accusingly.

“Maretus, what  _do_  you know about this?” she asked him again, and he couldn’t contain a soft laugh from escaping him.

He set the book down on the chaise and stood, walking over to join her, smile still on his face. Instead of answering, he peered over her shoulder at the book she held.

“ _Field Guide to Flora of the Regions of Thedas_?” he read. “Does it cover western Tevinter in that book?”

“Maretus,” she started.

“Does it?”

She sighed. “Yes, of course, but I don’t see what that has to do with–oh.” Vanora stopped, looked at the flower in her hand, its fiery petals almost glowing in the light, then up at him. “Do you know where this came from?”

“Marothius,” he replied. “I spent part of my childhood there, before the Legion took me. It had quite a few types of flowers there that I’ve never seen anywhere else.”

Her eyes widened, and she slowly lowered her gaze back to the flower, looking as if she were suddenly lost in thought.

“It’s called the ignasis bloom, if that helps in your search,” he said teasingly.

“It’s like a little flame,” she said distantly.

“I know.” His voice was soft, endearing.

His voice seemed to bring her back from her reverie, and she turned to him fully, setting the book in her hand down on the table. “ _Maretus_ ,” she said softly, his name a quiet breath that slipped past her lips.

Before he could respond in any way, she reached up with her now-free hand and touched his cheek, and he felt his heart thud in his chest, all words he might have said now fled. Vanora smiled and leaned in, drawing his face down with her hand so she could kiss his cheek.

“Thank you,” she murmured against his skin, her breath warm and smelling of the ginger tea she’d had with lunch. “I love it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**ii.**

Bare feet pad against cool marble tiles making no noise to disturb the silence that blankets the Tiberius estate. Moving as silently as possible, not keen on waking anyone, Vanora ties her robe up as she heads for the stairs. Everything is physically the same as it was when she left, minor changes to decoration notwithstanding, and she is mildly surprised that she has no trouble navigating the expanse of hallways and rooms without any light. All those years walking the halls have left their impression, an innate map buried in her subconscious that allows her to walk freely without thought. Certainly useful for spontaneous late night strolls. Drained both mentally and physically, Vanora really ought to be in bed. Knowing she’s tired, feeling the exhaustion in her bones, has done nothing to help her fall asleep. While she feels that she could curl up on the floor and sleep until afternoon she finds herself uncomfortable in her own bed, unable even to doze off. Despite everything, the comfortable bed and pillows, the luxurious nightgown, the beautiful weather, sleep eludes her. Everything seems enormous, as though she is somehow a child again trying to find her footing in a world much bigger than herself.

Ambling aimlessly through the house she passes by the gardens, pausing for a few moments to admire the stars shining brightly down upon the plants. She departs the scene after a few moments, returning to her mindless drifting through her home. When she hears a sound, sees a light and the careful noise of footsteps, she is immediately concerned that she’s woken someone up. Perhaps they had heard her close the door to her room and come to see what was the matter. It was not, however, any member of her household, nor her parents. Instead, she finds herself face-to-face with Maretus, the man holding a dim oil lamp to light his way.

“Maker,” she breathes, startled by his sudden presence, “I thought you were one of the slaves.”

Maretus seems equally surprised to see her so late at night, meandering through the halls like some satin-clad ghost. Her hand rests over her heart as she takes a slow breath to steady herself after the surprise. As always, her companion is silent at first, watching her carefully as though ensuring that she was not about to fall into a fainting spell. When she settles her hands back at her sides he speaks up.

“It’s late, what are you still doing up?” he whispers, voice edged ever so slightly with the tone of concern. What _had_ kept her up so late?

“I could ask you the same thing.”

The answer doesn’t do anything to satisfy Maretus, who only raises an eyebrow at her, waiting for an actual response. Stifling a sigh, Vanora laces her fingers together before her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admits, lips drawing into the faintest hint of a frown.

Maretus nods, a look of understanding crossing his features.

“I imagine it is nerve-wracking being back after so long.”

“Well…I suppose so, but it isn’t keeping me up at night.”

The retort is met with yet another quizzical look, Maretus clearly at a loss for what else might keep her up so late.

“My bed…it’s too big,” she admits, almost sheepishly. The surprise is evident on Maretus’ face as he registers what she’s said, lips forming a silent ‘oh’ as a response. It does sound silly, she knows—who would complain about such a massive, comfortable bed? Not many.

“I can’t feel the edges of it, the mattress seems to go on forever. It makes me feel too exposed laying in the center of the bed in the middle of the room with nothing but open windows and a wall around me.”

She has become accustomed to her tiny bed in Skyhold, to having something solid against her and being able to feel the edges of the mattress. She was used to _him_. They’d been traveling for months, curling up at night to stay warm and comfortable. Now there was nothing in her room but an empty bed.

“If…hmm,” Maretus begins, faltering and drawing his brows together in thought. “If you like, you are welcome to try mine. It’s probably not as lavish as yours.”

The offer catches her off guard and Vanora cannot help but widen her eyes in surprise. Maretus opens his mouth, about to add something or perhaps try to take it back, but snaps it shut a second later. Pursing her lips in thought, Vanora nods.

“I would certainly be happy to try if you don’t mind. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Neither of them moves to walk towards the stairs, Maretus almost taking a step and faltering. Then, seeming to come to his senses, he motions towards the stairs.

“After you, Lady Tiberius.”

Vanora smiles and heads up the stairs, pausing at the top to let Maretus take the lead. She knows he is in the same wing as she is, despite her parents’ protests that he ought to sleep with the rest of the staff, but Vanora isn’t sure which room they put him in. Sure enough, he’s in one of the smallest rooms in the wing. Lavish and spacious compared to his quarters in Skyhold, but not nearly as vast as her own quarters.

What she is most pleased to see, however, is that the bed appears a much more reasonable size. Not so small that she would be able to feel both edges of the bed by herself, but with Maretus in bed, it didn’t matter. So long as she could feel one edge of the mattress and have something solid against her she would surely be able to fall asleep.

They enter the room, Maretus lingering by the door as she surveys his quarters.

“Much more reasonably sized.”

“Good, I’m glad you like it… that is, I hope you’ll find it more suitable than your own bed.”

The familiar tone in his voice indicates that he’s nervous, or uncertain of what he’s said. Not an entirely surprising tone given the situation. She smiles faintly and motions him towards her.

“You needn’t stand guard at the door, Maretus. It’s late, and we _both_ ought to get to bed.“

“Yes, of course,” he agrees almost immediately.

Moving to the bed, he sets the lamp down on the side table and retrieves one of the pillows. When Vanora realizes what he’s doing Maretus is already near the archway that led to the attached room meant for relaxing during the day or evening.

“Maretus, where are you going?”

“Well, I thought you…”

Of course, he’s trying to pull this again, letting her have the bed and insisting that he take the floor or a couch. Even a chair. She nearly rolls her eyes at the ridiculousness of it. Really? He had a trouble sleeping with her now? She shoots him a look, daring him with brows raised to take one more step towards the archway. He freezes where he is, glancing from her to the bed, then back to her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Maretus. We’ve been sleeping together for months. It’s your bed, so sleep in it.”

Sighing audibly he abandons his quest to escape the room, watching as Vanora slips out of her robe and sets it carefully on a nearby chair. Turning back the covers she glances back to him, unsurprised to see that he hasn’t moved from his position by the door.

“ _Maretus_.”

The gentle murmur of his name seems to snap him back to reality and he crosses back to his bed. Vanora slips in first, drawing the sheets up around her. While Maretus doesn’t make a run for it he insists upon sleeping atop the covers. It isn’t ideal, and Vanora wishes he wasn’t so ridiculous, but he’s still next to her. Better than him running off to sleep in a chair.

Yawning, she turns to her side, muttering a sleepy ‘good night’ before she dozes off. Not long after Maretus falls asleep, Vanora curled up against him underneath the sheets. They both sleep soundly that night, exhaustion taking hold of both of them and sending deep into the land of Nod.


	3. Chapter 3

**iii.**

The next few days seem better for Vanora, he decides.

When he sees her after lunch, the dark circles that had been under her eyes in the middle of the night are diminished, and her welcome smile to him feels less tired, as well.

“How are you today, my lady?” he asks her, out of both formality and genuine curiosity.

There’s the briefest of pauses before she answers, and something in her gaze that makes his heart stutter a little, but he’s not entirely certain why or what it might be. “Quite well, thank you.”

Maretus nods, a swell of warmth rising in his chest. Even if it was just a smaller bed to sleep in, he was glad to be able to help her. In the hallway, she’d been entirely out of sorts for herself, and it worried him. There are so many more pressures and responsibilities here than she ever had in Skyhold, and she’d been in charge of saving probably hundreds of lives over the months she’d been the head healer. He knows this is something she was raised for, that she had always intended to come back to, but even still, it doesn’t stop him from bearing concern after her well-being. Too many sleepless nights would negatively affect her, not only in performance–which is paramount in Tevinter–but also in health. He will personally carry her to bed every night if that’s what it took to ensure she achieved enough sleep. Be it to her bed… or his.

The warmth in his chest plummets somewhere deep in his abdomen and begins to coil like a spring as soon as he has that thought, and all at once, he can’t decide if he wants to quell it or not. He certainly can’t deny that he’s enjoyed waking up next to her–it happened enough on the road back to Tevinter, and even before, in his quarters at Skyhold. All those times, though, they could be written off as necessity or accident. It had been entirely unintentional in Skyhold, and simple convenience of comfort and warmth on the road. Even his fumbling outburst of a suggestion that she sleep in his bed not two nights ago when she confided she found her own lacking, even that he could convince himself was borne of necessity. Yet still, he’s unable to deny a growing part of him (already an overwhelming amount? He can’t allow himself to admit that) wouldn’t mind a repeat out of choice, rather than necessity or alcohol.

“… Maretus?”

Vanora’s voice snaps him abruptly out of the spiraling thought he’d fallen into, and he stiffens, eyes focusing on her face, the concern on it clear.

“Are you okay?”

“Ah–yes. Apologies. I was just… thinking.”

Curious, she tilts her head a bit, one eyebrow arched delicately. “Oh? What of?”

“Just… glad that you were able to get a better night’s rest,” he says, managing even to not lie, even if he doesn’t blurt out the entire truth.

The smile that graces her lips is a subtle one, just a small motion that softens her entire face somehow in the process and makes his breath hitch. “I am, too,” she agrees.

The moment held between them is shattered by a slave approaching and bowing deeply, almost in prostration, to Vanora. “Humblest of apologies, my Lady, but _Domnus_ Valeri is requesting audience this afternoon, he wishes…” The slave trails off, his eyes flicking over to Maretus.

Vanora dismisses his obvious concern with a wave of her hand. “Continue.”

Nodding, the slave continues. “Yes, of course. He expresses the wish to help you re-acquaint yourself with the city, and has made reservations for tea in the afternoon to discuss a business matter with you.”

Instead of answering the slave right away, a strange looks darkens Vanora’s features and she presses her lips together. Maretus watches her, wondering who this Valeri is that he would elicit such a reaction from her.

“ _Domna_?” the slave ventures timidly. “What shall I tell him?”

A sigh escapes her forcibly. “Tell him to wait in the vestibule, and that I will be down shortly.”

The slave bows deeply again, backing up for several paces before turning and leaving to relay her answer.

Maretus looks at her with raised eyebrows. “Not someone you particularly want to see?”

She looks over at him as if she’d forgotten he was there momentarily, then closes her eyes briefly and shakes her head. “No, not really. But I fear I must.” The smile she gives him now is wan, and it almost seems like the circles are darker beneath her eyes again, all in a single instant. “I don’t intend to stay late–we have our dinner tradition to maintain, after all.”

He tries to return her smile, but knows his is probably even less convincing than hers. “Of course,” he says. “I have guard rotations to finalize, and records to continue working through, anyway.”

“Continue working through?” she echoes, gaze following him as he stands.

His smile turns a fraction more genuine. “There’s always more paperwork,” he tells her, and receives a soft laugh in return. “Good luck with your tour and tea,” he says, trying to be light about it, and watches as her face falls for an instant before she schools her expression.

“Good luck with your reports.”

***

It turns out that they aren’t able to keep up their dinner tradition; Vanora sends a message with her regrets to him via courier, and so Maretus takes his meal in his quarters, burying himself in looking over records of the estate’s guards while picking at his food. He works well into the night, reorganizing the stacks of papers into different ones than they were previously, grouping them in a system of his own preference, that he had in the Legion. Among the paperwork he had requested are all the records of incidents–verified and unverified–the guard rotation schedules (the record-keeping of which he found to be lacking, in his opinion), and retention history of each of the estate’s guards going back ten years, and was nearly halfway through at this point. It isn’t that he expected to find anything out of the ordinary, but if he is to ensure that Vanora, and her estate, is properly protected, he wants to be as thorough as possible. Especially after Septimus’ attempts on her life after a decade away; who knows how long he might have been plotting that? If there are any such cracks or weak points in the guard here, he will find them.

The night grows late before he notices the hour, and, raking a hand through his hair, leans back in his chair to stretch, the wood creaking beneath him. He’s been sitting for entirely too long, the stiffness in his back tells him, and so he gets up and rolls his shoulders, then walks to the small veranda and looks out over the estate gardens in the night. The moon has already risen–he didn’t realize it was so late. The stone ledge is cool beneath his hands, and a breeze scented with oranges and summer blossoms from the gardens below tugs at his hair and clothes. He wonders if Vanora has returned yet, and frowns.

The way her face had darkened doesn’t sit well with him–and the invitation to tea could be a simple polite courtesy, but a twist in his gut wonders otherwise. Perhaps Valeri is a suitor of Vanora’s, and the thought makes him grip the ledge tighter. She’s not been back six months yet, and already may have to be fending off suitors.

No–Maretus sucks in a breath and stops himself short.

It would be a good thing if she were already getting suitors, he tells himself, forcing the release of his breath to be slow and controlled. It means that she’s making excellent headway entering back into the thick of Tevinter after a decade away. Ignoring the tight feeling in his chest, he stares out at the gardens below, awash in silvery light and making the leaves flash in the breeze like the scales of minnows.

So concentrated is he on shutting out any wayward thought on how he may feel about Vanora having suitor prospects that he nearly misses the quiet knock at his door. Glancing back over his shoulder, he hesitates. He could ignore it–it was quiet enough that if he truly was asleep like most of the estate was at this hour that he probably wouldn’t have heard it–but he can’t. He’s the Guard Captain here now, and if it’s a slave come to fetch him for some reason, it would be a legitimate one.

When he opens his door and it’s Vanora standing at the threshold, looking exponentially more wearied than ever, he can’t suppress his surprise, eyebrows shooting up. “Vanora?” he asks quietly, hoping she doesn’t hear the sudden swift beating of his heart.

“I…” she starts, as if unsure of herself. “I was wondering if… your offer from a few nights ago might still be… available?”

His heart and thoughts race. His _offer_? He doesn’t recall saying any offer _out loud_.

“Ah–” he says.

“I haven’t been sleeping well again,” she says, quickly, sparing him any further embarrassment he surely would have brought upon himself by speaking. Her eyebrows draw together as she continues. “But I slept… a lot better last time I was here, so I thought, maybe…” She trails off into a small shrug.

He’s not sure if it’s relief he feels or disappointment, or what, but he nods anyway. “No, yes, of course. Come in. You’re always welcome here.” He knows he’s starting to babble, but can’t stop it anyway. Either he’s tongue-tied around her or can’t stop talking, it seems.

He shifts out of the doorway so she can pass through it, then pulls the door shut behind her. Watching her move about his quarters, Maretus takes the time to steady his breathing. He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t hope to have a repeat of the other night–not her sleeplessness, but her sleeping next to him. She said that she’d slept better, and he has to admit that he had, too. Vanora walks by his desk, eyeing the haphazard stacks of paper there, though in the candlelight the darkness under her eyes looks worse than it probably really is, and he frowns.

“Were you doing paperwork all night?” she asks at the same time that he says, “Was your afternoon very long?”

They both stop, sheepish, and Maretus motions for her to speak first. She shakes her head instead.

“No… it doesn’t–I’d rather not talk about the afternoon, if that’s all right with you?” She looks suddenly more tired than he’s ever seen her, and he’s known her when she barely slept three hours in as many days dealing with wounded.

All at once his feet are moving with no command from him, over to her, his face softened and his hand reaching out to touch her arm. “Of course. Let’s just go to bed and get some rest.” _You look like you need it_ , is the unspoken sentence hanging in the air between them.

Vanora lets out a grateful sigh. “Thank you,” she murmurs, leaning just slightly into his hand.

He gently guides her to his bed again, and she slips out of her walking robe as before and sinking down into his mattress. He takes the time to go back and extinguish the candles in his room, carrying over his oil lamp back to the bedside and sitting down on the bed itself opposite her to take off his boots. She rolls onto her side to watch him.

“You’re not going to try and sleep on a chair tonight?”

He lets out a soft chuckle, nudging his boots to the side with his foot. “No, you thoroughly dissuaded me of that last time.”

“Good. It’s ridiculous.”

Maretus hesitates for a breath–he wants to join her beneath the blankets, but holds himself back. What if a servant or slave were to find them? In the same bed was bad enough, but at least by keeping a layer between them, she couldn’t be accused of any scandals. He worries about ruining her status as she’s rebuilding influence. Bad enough he’s a deserter whose life she had to save, and even worse still he’s soporati. The last thing he wants is for any nasty rumors started about her because of him.

“Maretus?”

The softness of his name tugs at the depths of his chest. “Yes?” he asks, nearly breathless and hoping she doesn’t notice.

“Will you also not sleep on top of the blankets this time?”

He bites on the inside of his cheek, unsure of how to answer. “I…” he begins, eyes searching her face in the dim light, and she meets his gaze with a sleepy smile. His resolve crumbles. “All right.”

The bed shifts beneath his added weight as he slides into it, heart thundering in his chest for no good reason. This… this is not necessity. This is not convenience. This feels very much like something that he’s still far too nervous to give name or proper thought to. Vanora’s cool hand finds his arm beneath the blankets, tugging a bit on it. He complies with her silent request and scoots closer, and her hand travels across the breadth of his chest (surely feeling the headiness of his pulse) as she nestles against him. Her nose fits into the crook of his shoulder and the lavender scent of her hair reaches him; he shifts to find a more comfortable position and loops an arm around her, settling his hand on her hip. It’s not unlike how they’d woken to find themselves after a night of drinking and talking back in Skyhold, only this time they are very conscious and very sober. He’s frightened to dwell on the meaning behind it, and so pushes it to the back of his mind.

“Good night,” she murmurs against his skin.

Her breathing evens out quickly and he knows she’s fallen asleep, but he stares up into the darkness for a short while longer before slipping into slumber himself.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

**iv.**

Finally, the Tiberius estate is quiet. The slaves have finished their tasks, Marcus and Aurelia are in bed, and it seems that the only two people awake now are Vanora and Maretus. She prefers it this way, and relishes in the quiet noises of the night, devoid of any hustle or bustle. It’s been a long week, yet another one in a very long month of adjusting, reintegrating into society and finding her feet again. She can only imagine what sort of time Maretus has had, adjusting to life in Tevinter again but in a very different setting. Not quite the leader of a Legion, but at least the rooms were comfortable and the food had real flavor again. No longer did he need to rely on his little box of spices to try and liven up the Southern food. Vanora hopes Maretus doesn’t regret his choice now that they’re home and adjusting to life again. She wouldn’t know if he did, not unless she asked him directly. As with anything else he’s stoic and not particularly forthcoming with his feelings. Nothing new there.

Still, there’s a certain tenseness about him, an odd energy that Vanora cannot quite place. Perhaps he’s in need of a day off, time to go burn some of his energy and not have to spend so much time standing around watching her. Vanora does feel bad that he’s stuck doing such a mundane job, though she’s already working out some time to set aside for him so that he doesn’t have to be around her  _all_  the time. Of course, there are other ways to burn energy that doesn’t require an entire day off. Ways that Vanora would be more than happy to help with. After all, he’s not the only one who’s had to spend so much time relatively sedentary. Glancing surreptitiously at Maretus as they walk, leaving the gardens after an evening spent under the stars, Vanora wonders what’s going on inside his head. All this time and she still can’t figure out exactly what he’s thinking. Silent and stubborn—the Maretus way.

Looping her arm through his Vanora tugs him to the side, away from the veranda that would lead back into the house. Vanora can feel him stiffen up, only for a moment, at the sudden contact. She just smiles and nods towards a set of stairs tucked away at the corner of the garden. It made moving from floor to floor easier when outside if one wanted to leave the upstairs porches for a prolonged stay in the formal gardens.

**_“_** I want to see the stars a little while longer, ** _”_**  she says, glancing back up at the sky. It could be her imagination, but the skies seemed clearer here, less clouded, and the stars shined brighter. There were no meetings in the morning, which meant that she was free to stay up as late as she pleased and sleep in until she couldn’t stand to sleep anymore. She was planning on taking full advantage of it. Feeling eyes on her, Vanora turns her attention back to Maretus.

**_“_** What? Is something wrong? ** _”_**

They pause a few feet away from the stairs, Vanora waiting for an answer that Maretus doesn’t provide. His brow wrinkles, and for a moment he looks ready to speak. There’s something in his eyes that she can almost name, but then he shakes his head and begins walking again.

**_“_** Nothing’s wrong. ** _”_**

Sighing, she keeps pace with him, hiking up a handful of her gown as they reach the stairs. Tripping up the stairs and ruining both her dress and her face isn’t on her to-do list. Maretus notices, naturally, and she hears something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle.

**_“_** Something funny? ** _”_**  she questions, shooting him a look as they reach the top of the stairs.

**_“_** Your clothes. They’re incredibly impractical. ** _”_**

Vanora rolls her eyes,  ** _“_** You didn’t seem to have a problem with them before. In fact, I dare say you liked some of them. You certainly never stared at me so much when I was in ‘practical’ clothing. ** _”_**

When she looks over at Maretus he’s shaking his head, but a hint of amusement lingers on his face. Billowing curtains mark the entrance to her rooms, the doors to the veranda wide open to let in the cool breeze. Maretus holds back one of the panels of fabric so that Vanora can pass through with ease. Letting go of him, she ducks underneath his arm and steps into her rooms. The room is lit with candles and oil lamps, a nightgown laid across one of the plush chairs, and a platter fruit that Julia had no doubt left behind should Vanora want a late night snack.

Maretus steps into the room a moment later, scanning the space as Vanora begins to take off the rings adorning her fingers. She can feel him staring but doesn’t bother looking back. Crossing her room she drops the rings into a decorative bowl on her dressing table.

**_“_** Maretus, you really ought not to stare. It’s rude. ** _”_**

She’s moved on to bracelets now, leaving the more complicated necklaces until her hands are free of jewelry that might catch on any of the jewels or chains.

**_“_** Shouldn’t Julia be here? ** _”_**  he questions, still lingering at the door. Vanora looks back then, dropping the last of her bracelets into the bowl and shaking her head.

**_“_** No, I told her not to wait for me to return. I thought we might be back late, and there is no need for her to stay awake just to help me get to bed. ** _”_**

There’s no verbal answer from Maretus, just a nod of acknowledgment. Vanora sets to unclasping the necklace, a task easier said than done. Twice she misses one of the tiny hooks at the very top of the piece. As she reaches back a third time, irritation beginning to creep into her face, a familiar set of hands push hers away.

**_“_** Perhaps she should have stayed up. You’re not very good at this, ** _”_**  he muttered, making surprisingly quick work of the many clasps on the necklace. Vanora is about to protest, to point out that she happened to be a decade out of practice, when he presses flush against her back, reaching over her shoulders to set the necklace down alongside the rest of her jewelry. It silences any potential comeback effectively, the firm warmth at her back immediately making her stomach churn in a way that is still somewhat strange, but becoming deliciously familiar. Neither of them moves or speaks, Maretus’ hands lingering near her, not quite back at his sides, before settling lightly on her hips.

**_“_** What about all the pins…can you handle them, or do you need help with that too? ** _”_**

His voice is barely more than a whisper in her ear, sending a shudder right down her spine as her heart begins to race. Pins? What pins? Vanora’s mind feels sluggish, and the body pressed behind her isn’t helping with her focus. It clicks a long moment later. Pins..her dressing pins, tucked away under the folds of fabric that kept all the complicated folds, pleats or structured pieces in place. Vanora’s mouth runs dry, Maretus standing still as stone while her mind moves a mile a minute. How does he even know about the damn pins? She shuts the errant thought down before she can get any more distracted.

**_“_** Well… ** _”_**  she murmurs,  ** _“_** if you’re offering, I would be glad to have assistance. They can be challenging to reach on my own. ** _”_**

It’s not  _entirely_  true. There was a fair amount of them to be certain, but she could likely remove them all herself. But she wasn’t about to admit that when there was a much more appealing offer on the table. With the heavy collar and necklace gone, it’s much easier to reach the pins. None of them are even visible, so she isn’t sure exactly how he plans on finding them. But this is Maretus—he always finds a way, for he’s much too stubborn to quit easily. He leans away from Vanora, taking a step back so that she can take a deep breath without him knowing before she turns to face him. His eyes glint, the candlelight enhancing the amber in the dark brown, and he’s focused completely on her.

Meeting his gaze Vanora smiles faintly, almost shyly, and his eyes drop, skimming over the fabric covering her body, assessing the folds and structure, trying to figure out where exactly a pin might be. Once he finds one the rest will be fairly straightforward, all of them clustered around the area of her dress that is carefully draped around her chest and waist. The only others are those that hold the gauzy sleeves in place where they meet the rest of the dress. Those he finds first, sliding the two pins out of the fabric on her right arm, then repeating the gesture on the left arm. His gaze is fixed right on her chest, Vanora’s cheeks heating up as he looks up at her as if to check that he’s in the right place. Biting the inside of her lip she doesn’t move a muscle, not until he runs his hand over the draping on her waist. The fourth pin falls a moment later. The fifth comes right afterward and his hands start moving faster, finding one pin after another, hands gliding across her waist with increased surety.

Finally, she manages to find her voice, though it’s breathy and shaky,  ** _“_** Maretus. ** _”_**

He pauses, hand hovering over the next pin he’s found and gives her a questioning look. Trying to breathe normally she manages to straighten up and, in the process, just ends up pressing Maretus’ hand flush against her stomach. The fabric of her dress shifts without the pins there, the draping loosening up and falling lower on her waist.

**_“_** You are aware that this is not a race, yes? ** _”_**

Maretus doesn’t respond. Not right away. He studies her face, his hand not moving from her stomach. A moment later she’s surprised to see him smirking and shaking his head. The pin right beneath his hand comes out a split second later and he drops it on the dressing table.

**_“_** I could go slower, ** _”_**  he mused, locking eyes with her,  ** _“_** but I don’t want to. ** _”_**

Mouth going dry again Vanora heaves a deep breath and then matches his smirk with her own,  ** _“_** Well then. The rest are in the drapes on my chest. Most of them are on the right… ** _”_**

There’s a look that resembles surprise on his face, but then the dark glint is back in his eyes and he returns his focus to her dress. Before he can finish assessing the draping on her chest she’s pulling on his hand, placing it on the left side of her chest as she begins to pull out the ones on the right side. Maretus finds the first pin easily, and then one after another go from her dress to the table. It isn’t long before the fabric goes slack, sliding down her body and pooling at her feet. Goosebumps break out across her skin as a breeze rolls through and another shiver runs through her body.

“You’re next, Maretus, ** _”_**  she murmurs in an almost sing-song voice, smiling faintly as he drags his attention back to her face. She doesn’t give him much time to say anything, quickly getting to work unfastening his jerkin. After all, he wore more layers than she, and she isn’t keen on going slower either. Thank the Maker that there were no plans for tomorrow, for Vanora suspects that their bedtime won’t be until the wee hours of the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**v.**

Slowly the night fades into the earliest moments of day. Sunrise is still hours away, but it is late enough that any sleep would be shortly interrupted by the sun’s waking. Outside the rooms, beyond the wide open windows with billowing, gauzy curtains, the world seems to stand still. A gentle breeze drifts through, curtains fluttering as the cool night air seeps in. Inside the main room, there is no sign of movement save for the flickering ghost of light.

The source of the light is several meters away in the attached bedroom. A substantial bed dominates most of the room, two tables stationed at either side. A few candles are lit upon one of them, bathing the room in a faint golden glow. The bed sheets are in a state of disarray, tangled around the pair lounging in the bed. Light flickers against the two, Vanora’s creamy skin standing out in stark contrast to the warm golden tone of Maretus’.

Both lay quietly, Vanora curled against Maretus’ side, resting her head on his chest. A dark hand riddled with tiny scars and one long thin one combs absently through the length of tousled black hair spilling over Vanora’s shoulder. Neither of them speaks, basking in the silence of the night. A welcome quiet after days of constant noise. Though Vanora’s eyes are closed she is very much awake, listening to Maretus’ heartbeat as she lays there.

For a long while neither of them speaks, basking in each others company and the chance to lay about with nothing pressing to attend to. It is a familiar, comfortable silence that was cultivated so many months ago in Skyhold. Years ago now, though it seems just yesterday they had said their goodbyes. The silence is broken a few minutes later as Maretus glances off to the side of the bed.

“I feel bad that we left such a mess behind,” he comments, glancing down at Vanora as she makes a quiet, dismissive noise against his skin.

“The room wouldn’t be in shambles if you wore anything halfway practical.”

That catches Vanora’s attention, eyes snapping open at the teasing criticism. Glancing up at him she arches a brow, silently daring him to stand his ground with such a ridiculous claim. He merely looks at her, waiting for her inevitable retort.

“If I remember correctly you seemed to have no issue handling my impractical dress. I daresay you enjoyed it.”

Resting her head back down she doesn’t need to look up to know that he’s smirking, trying to hold back a smile at the very least. He had help, too, and somehow he’d known exactly where to look.

“Anyway,” she continues, “You’re the one with one hundred layers of clothing. I thought there would be no end to the laces and toggles.”

Now she can feel a chuckle rumble through his chest and she smiles against his skin.

“If  _I_  remember correctly, you seemed to have no issue handling my one hundred layers.”

Turning her own words against her? Vanora sits up now, shooting him a playfully accusatory look. Leaning over him, she points towards the door, a trail of Maretus’ clothing leading from the main room to her bedroom. Every few steps she’d manage to peel off another layer of fabric or leather, swearing that it  _had_  to be the last piece.

“Yet it took me so long to get you out of it all. You weren’t nearly as forthcoming with assistance when it came to undressing yourself,” she points out, leaning back to rest against the headboard.

“True. But you were quite…  _adamant_. If not a little chaotic in your endeavor.”

“Chaotic? Was I supposed to have you stand still and wait patiently while I got you out off all your clothes?”

He’s smiling now, amber eyes twinkling with amusement at the very idea of her being patient after he’d gotten her out of that ungodly amount of fabric. It earns him an eye roll from her, but she says nothing else, moving instead to flip her hair over her shoulder, letting it spill down either side of her chest.

“All I’m saying is that if that is your idea of organizing clothing it’s no wonder that you never managed to find my trousers in Skyhold.”

Vanora blinks, the comment setting in, before she reaches over and smacks him on the arm. The smile is gone, replaced with an accusatory frown.

“You shouldn’t joke about that, Maretus. You nearly  _died_.”

It’s an unpleasant reminder of how very differently things could have turned out had she never stopped by his room. Stubborn to a fault. Maretus’ look sobers, his smile fading as he realizes the joke has not been taken the way he’d intended. He sits up, almost kicking the sheets off the bed in his haste.

“Vanora, I—“ he begins, faltering.

“I know,” she sighs, well aware that he hadn’t meant it in seriousness.  _Still_ , it is hardly a pleasant memory. Then again, at least something good had come from not being able to find his trousers. After all, she couldn’t carry him all the way, and when the other soldiers took him off her hands she was free to enjoy the view. If only for a moment before getting to work.

“I could simply insist you never wear clothing again. That would solve both our problems.”

Maretus doesn’t say anything at first, staring at Vanora as the grim look on her face fades back into a smile. When he’s certain she is no longer upset he lets out a slow breath, stifling a smirk at her ridiculous suggestion.

“Unfortunately, my Lady, I must remind you that I have duties to attend to. It would hardly be appropriate for me to attend you in public in such a state of undress.”

Feigning a look of deep thought, Vanora nods seriously.

“Yes, you make an excellent point…I suppose the only option left is for you to lie in bed with me all day.”

Slowly, a gentle, affectionate smile takes hold of Maretus’ lips. Wrapping his arms around her he pulls her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before resting his chin atop it. Vanora’s feigned serious expression softens as he kisses her head, the woman smiling and settling in against her lover’s side.

“And so I shall.”


	6. Chapter 6

**vi.**

"How long have you known?"

This isn’t a conversation Vanora wants to have, not now, not ever. Ideally, it wasn’t a conversation they’d ever need to have. But there they were, standing in the garden, nothing but the stars and moon to overhear them. The look on Maretus’ face makes her chest ache painfully. A mixture of accusation, betrayal, and grief. What she wouldn’t give to make that look go away. She’s certain she’ll never be able to forget it.

She can’t bring herself to answer right away, opening her mouth and then closing it again, trying to find a way to explain this away. But there is no explaining it away, no sweeping it under the rug. It wasn’t as though she intended to keep it secret forever, but she needed time to process it herself before confronting him. Vanora isn’t sure how he’s found out about it, but she has a sneaking suspicion that her parents had something to do with it.

“A few days… almost a week,” she finally admits, rubbing at her temples as though it might make this mess disappear.

“I was going to tell you tomorrow when my parents were away. It took me days to process it myself, to wrap my head around it, and I didn’t want to tell you until I’d managed to find my own footing again. Until I understood what it would mean.”

Vanora sighs and shakes her head. “It was always a suspicion I had. My parents always wanted me married off to the best possible suitor… and with my recent absence they took what they could get. A better deal than they’d expected.”

Apparently, the upper echelons of Tevinter had taken notice that her time away had done nothing to dull Vanora’s skill and cunning. Good enough that she’d managed to catch the attention of a suitor good enough to have tempted her during her younger years.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t make this any less painful.

“As much as I want to, I can’t say no, Maretus. You knew as well as I that it was a perfectly plausible outcome. It’s the way of Tevinter. There are ways around it, and I swear to the Maker we will find a way to deal with this. I am not giving up on us. I hope you won’t either.”

Trailing off, she takes a deep breath to steady herself. “But, if this is something you cannot live with… I will understand. I won’t like it, but I will understand. And should it be too painful for you… well… I have done everything I can to secure you a life of freedom wherever you so choose. Whether that be here with me… or elsewhere.”


End file.
